


No Temptation at All

by randi2204



Category: Voltron: Defender of the Universe, Voltron: Lion Voltron
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-16
Updated: 2010-10-16
Packaged: 2017-10-12 17:37:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/127324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/randi2204/pseuds/randi2204
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Temptation lives on the inside of a matchbook cover... or does it?</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Temptation at All

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: WEP owns Voltron. Inspired by the song "No Man in His Wrong Heart" by Gary Allan.

No Temptation at All

 

Lance had already pulled a cigarette from the crumpled pack and stuck it in his mouth when he realized that he’d left in such a hurry that he’d forgotten his lighter.

 

“Shit.” He began to search the pockets of his jacket anyway, just on the off chance that he’d stashed an extra one.  No such luck.  _Still,_ he thought, _that’s what you get when you let him convince you to stop smoking._

 

Disgusted with himself, he was about to put the cancer stick away when a matchbook sailed through the air and landed on the bar in front of him, just missing the puddle his sweating beer bottle had left.

 

Without even looking to see who had tossed the matches to him, he said, “Hey, thanks.”  He opened the book, tore out a match and was about to light it, pressing it between the backward-folded cover and the striker bar with his thumb

 

 _“Do you know how dangerous that is?” Keith demanded, reaching for the pack._

 

when he noticed the scrawled writing in red ink, all over the inside.  Curious, he turned it right side up.

 

 _You.  Me.  My apartment.  You want?_

 

Match unused, cigarette unlit, Lance snapped his head around, and came face to face with…

 _Keith?_

 

He stared in shock for a moment, then blinked.  No, it wasn’t Keith, but a woman who looked enough like him that it made his head spin.  Same dusky skin, same midnight hair, floating over her shoulders in unruly waves, same dark eyes, sparkling with

 

 _unshed tears, he was trying not to cry at what you said_

 

humor and interest.  If it hadn’t been for the bright red shade she’d painted her lips, he would have even said her mouth was the same as Keith’s.  Lips full and pouty-looking and begging to be kissed…

 

  

  1. Seeing his surprise, she smiled, a crimson curl that was intended to be seductive.
  



 

He could barely hear her over the white noise of the other patrons in the bar, but that didn’t matter much; it was obvious what she was asking.  There was a slight flush to her cheeks for which the temperature could not account, and that look

 

 _“Are you coming to bed?” he asked, smiling coyly at Lance over his shoulder._

 

was one he’d seen many times before.  It was all completely familiar, and yet… _It’s all wrong,_ he thought, then understood why.  _It’s not Keith._

 

Inwardly, he shook himself out of his thoughts, then returned her smile.  But while hers was frankly appraising and inviting, his was reluctant, though she didn’t seem to notice.  He tucked the cigarette away, and lifted the hand that still held the matchbook.  “This could be a pretty risky way of propositioning someone, you know.”

 

She nodded, and stepped closer, so they could speak without shouting.  “I know.  But this is the first time.  What do you think?”  She cocked her head to one side, watching him.  It was quite obvious from the way she studied him that she liked his mobile features, and the way his auburn hair curled over his collar.

 

This time, the smile he turned on her was definitely sad.  She straightened abruptly and raised one hand, visibly taken aback by the unhappiness radiating from him.

 

“I think you’ve made a mistake,” he said gently.  He had no desire to hurt her feelings – _God, she looks like Keith!_ he thought with a twinge of guilt – but he wasn’t about to lead her on.

 

Not when the fight he and Keith had had was still so bitterly fresh in his mind.  He couldn’t handle the bantering, the sidelong glances, the subtle dance of seduction at which he had been such a master.  Had Keith been there with him, had they not fought, he might have tried it, to get a rise

 

 _“Act your age for once, Lance!  Or are you still 18?  Do you really need to make everyone fall in love with you?”_

 

out of him, though it would probably just get him a tolerant smile and a shake of the head.

 

But his heart wasn’t in it.  His heart was at home.  _Where I really ought to be,_ he realized.

 

“I’m not looking for company,” he continued, and a bit of genuine humor crept into his tone.  “I’m taken, my dear, no longer on the market.”

 

Her dark eyes flashed quickly to his hand, examining his fingers, and his smile fled.  “You won’t find a ring,” he told her, his voice a bit harder than it had been, perhaps harder than he really meant, and she winced.  “But there is someone I love very much at home.”

 

“I’m sorry,” she said quietly.  “I didn’t realize.…”

 

He softened.  “No, it’s all right.  You didn’t know.”  He smiled faintly again.  “Give me your hand.”  Puzzled, she glanced up at him, then did as he asked.  He pressed the matchbook into her palm and closed her fingers around it.  “It was a good try, though.  The next guy you try it on won’t be able to resist.”  He released her hand and winked and turned away.

 

“Wait!” At her call, he looked back.  She was blushing now, pink staining her cheeks more than her makeup.  “You… you haven’t finished your drink.  I didn’t mean to drive you away…”

 

He shook his head.  “No, I do have to get back home.”  Unable to resist, he forced a grin, and added, “See, we had a fight, and he probably thinks I don’t love him anymore… when nothing could be further from the truth.”  With one more wink at her dumbfounded expression, he sauntered out the door.

 

He sobered as soon as the door swung closed behind him.  _She didn’t deserve that_ , he told himself reprovingly.  _As much as Keith didn’t deserve the things you said to him._   He suppressed a shudder, remembering the harsh things he’d said, and pulled out his car keys.

 

***

Though the evening was not at all cold, Keith had a blanket draped around him as he sat on the sofa.  He’d turned the lights off long ago, and sat staring blindly into the darkness.

 

The jingle of keys in the lock was loud in his ears, and quite unexpected.  He blinked at the door in surprise.  As it began to open, and the light from the corridor began to creep into the apartment, he quickly fumbled one hand from the confines of the blanket, and wiped the tell-tale streaks of tears from his face.

 

A useless gesture, since Lance would know he’d been crying anyway, but the only one he could make.

 

A shadow stepped in, one whose shape he knew quite well.  The keys rattled as Lance set them on the shelf near the door, and the light disappeared as he closed the door behind himself.  When the rustle of fabric told him Lance was reaching for the light switch, Keith finally spoke.  “Leave them off.  Please.”  Despite the effort he put into making himself sound normal, his voice still sounded hoarse and hushed, and he looked away, staring at the floor, lost in the faint illumination from the moon.

 

The shadow of Lance hesitated, and then lowered his hand.  “All right.”

 

There was a lengthy silence.  Lance fidgeted near the door, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.  Keith drew the blanket more closely around himself, huddling into its folds as if they offered the solace he so desperately wanted, and waited to hear the words he dreaded.

 

But they didn’t come.  Instead, Lance sat beside him on the sofa, close enough to touch, but not doing so.  “I’m sorry, Keith,” he whispered.  “I didn’t mean what I said.”

 

He stirred, but did not look up from the moonlit patch of carpet he studied.  “It sounded like you did,” he replied, no louder than a breath.

 

Lance shook his head.  “No.  I never meant it.  I love you.  I would never leave.”

 

At last, Keith raised his eyes and faced him.  He heard Lance’s breath catch, sensed his hand reaching out to brush against a tear stained cheek.  He didn’t try to avoid the touch, but he didn’t seek it out, as he usually did.

 

“You… you never said that before,” he said, his voice unsteady.  And that was the whole source of his pain.  Never mind the argument they’d had; they’d had a few other fights as loud and hurtful.  But it had been the way Lance had spoken

 

 _“Maybe I should leave.  Sometimes I wonder why I don’t.”_

 

the way he kind of gritted the words out.  And it wasn’t like he just meant to calm down; it had been _leave_ , forever.

 

It had drained his anger in an instant, leaving him feeling utterly empty inside.  He’d just stood there, mouth agape, watching as Lance stalked out the door.

 

It had hurt so much worse than any of the other words they’d hurled at each other, to think that Lance would find it so easy to throw it all away.  Arus and Doom and all the hardships they’d gone through, and all the years they’d spent, yes, fighting sometimes, but together through it all…

 

Lance sighed, and stroked his thumb lightly across Keith’s cheek.  “I know,” he said softly.  “And don’t think I haven’t been regretting it since I said it.”  He leaned forward, his forehead not quite touching Keith’s, his hand twining in the fine dark hair.  He locked his eyes on Keith’s, deeply shadowed.  “After all this time, you should know I’m not perfect.  But you should also know I never break a promise.  And I would never, ever, break the promise I made to you.  I may storm out on you from time to time, but I’ll always be back.  Usually within the hour.”

 

Keith snorted at Lance’s weak attempt at humor, one corner of his mouth twitching up despite himself.  He moved the few inches he needed to let their brows meet, and felt the other’s hand curl around the back of his neck, caressing him lightly.  He shook off the blanket, shivering a bit at the change of temperature, accustomed as he had been to the warmth of his cocoon, and reached up to thread his fingers through Lance’s hair.  The soft touches they exchanged were comfortable and comforting and, somehow, so much more intimate

 

 _“I hope this doesn’t mean that you’re getting tired of me in bed,” he said with a laugh._

 

than the tightest clinch or the hottest sex they’d ever had.

 

In spite of that, though, his voice was still shaky when he spoke again.  “I don’t want to fight any more, Lance,” he whispered, not caring how childish he sounded.

 

“Me, neither.”  Lance’s voice was only slightly firmer than Keith’s own.

 

“I don’t want you to leave.”  If at all possible, his words were even quieter than before.

 

“I’m not going to.”

 

Keith shifted closer, and the hand that had been against his neck drifted down to swirl in light circles over his back.  He moved to rest his head against Lance’s shoulder, and they melted into a soft embrace.

 

They sat that way for a long while, letting the tension dissolve from between them, neither releasing the other.  At last, when Keith could feel that he was almost asleep, worn out from the emotional evening, Lance raised his head and urged him to do the same.  Keith blinked at him sleepily in the gloom, eyes heavy lidded.  Lance smiled at him, though he surely knew the sight well, and again brushed his fingers feather-light across Keith’s cheek, as if he could not stop himself.  “You ready for bed?” he asked quietly.

 

In response, Keith merely shook his head and rested it on Lance’s shoulder again.

 

Lance chuckled and buried his nose in Keith’s hair.  “I didn’t mean… I just meant to go to sleep,” he said.  “Because if we stay here and sleep, we’ll both be stiff when we wake up, you know.”

 

“Don’t care.”  He muffled it into Lance’s shirt, but knew that he’d been heard when Lance laughed again.

 

“You’ll care in the morning.”  But he said nothing else, just settled back against the cushions and drew Keith to lie against him.

 

Keith managed a drowsy grin at Lance’s ready acquiescence.  After such an intense argument, he just wanted to be close to his lover.  He didn’t want sex; he didn’t even really want kisses.  All he needed was to feel Lance’s familiar slim body against him, to feel his arms hard about him in return.  He was reluctant to give up that touch even to move from the sofa to the bed.

 

And from the way Lance’s arms tightened about him, he was pretty sure that he felt the same way.

 

Before he fell asleep, he heard Lance say, very softly, “Love you, Key.”

 

Warm contentment settled over him.  “Love you, Lancer,” he mumbled into his lover’s neck.

 

When they woke in the morning, Keith’s back would hurt from the lumps in the couch, and Lance would have a stiff neck, and they’d notice their other aches and pains, and that unpleasant feeling of having slept in their clothes.  But first, there would be that single moment of pure happiness that could only come from having spent the night in a tangled bundle of limbs with the one you loved above all others.

 

They would still be together.  _And_ , Keith thought, drifting away, _that’s all that matters._

 

***

July 19, 2003


End file.
